


Dance Floor

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: Between the tight pants and really, really nice braid, Tenshouin Eichi is doomed.





	Dance Floor

Wataru is a vision.

 

That hasn’t changed since day one of laying eyes on him, and masterpieces never cease to be so _distracting._ Eichi admits, tonight’s live wasn’t his best performance yet. It’s difficult to focus when Wataru is _Wataru_ , right within Eichi’s reach, with the warmth of his body so close at what feels like the most inopportune times of the performance. _At least Yuzuru keeps blocking Tori’s prying eyes,_ Eichi desperately thinks when he feels his heart skip a beat, Wataru’s ponytail swinging just beyond his fingertips.

 

If this is what dying _really_ feels like, Eichi might reconsider not being ready for that yet.

 

He’s flushed and sweaty and overstimulated by the time they make their way backstage, with a few choice phrases caught up on his tongue. Only around Wataru does he become this tongue-tied, like a stuttering, pathetic _virgin_. _Embarrassing! Get it together, Eichi, you’ve got to._ “You’re so sexy,” his traitor brain blurts out apropos of nothing. Well, fuck it. He’s never been told he’s anything _but_ blunt before.

 

One elegantly arched eyebrow raises, but Wataru’s rejoinder, his delighted, “Ahh, my Emperor flatters his unworthy servant as always!” is somewhat belied by the blush that creeps across his cheeks. It’s hard not to be startled when Eichi is so _blunt_ , though of course, it’s one of the infinite qualities that Wataru loves about him.

 

He swallows hard, and leans in, because even if it’s Eichi, he can’t lose at flirtation. He curls one finger around a strand of pale hair, tugging him close. It’s no surprise that his heart thuds hard when Eichi gets close to him, but he leans in anyway, because feeling alive is better than any false pretenses he sticks to when Eichi isn’t around.

 

Eichi’s breath hiccups. Why is it _just_ Wataru that he can’t think around? With anyone else, he’d already be laughing and flirting, casually taking what he wants, when he wants it, but it’s—it’s _Wataru_ , and the pink flush to his cheeks from exertion darkens, making his pulse thud in his ears.

 

Maybe if he stops thinking so much—maybe if he just gets it out of the way, this will be _easier_.

 

“I’m the unworthy one,” he whispers, his own trembling fingers reaching out to grab that swinging tail of Wataru’s hair before he second guesses himself one more time. It isn’t as if he’s never touched it before, but right now, it feels like spun silk in his grasp, and Eichi tightens that grasp, yanking Wataru forward and against him, finally crushing their lips together.

 

Wataru’s arms move without his mind’s permission, wrapping around Eichi to keep him close. He stumbles, weight shifting unexpectedly, and both of them crash against the wall, Eichi pinned there by Wataru’s body’s weight as his mind pleasantly fizzes and sparks.

 

Eichi’s mouth is on his, and Wataru has never been happier to discover—yes, yes, _yes_ , this is one of those rare moments, like flying in his balloon, like being onstage in front of thousands, that the intellectual concept can never prepare him for. He’s suddenly, acutely aware of everywhere their bodies are touching, from hands to thighs to _lips_ , searing heat tearing through him. As first kisses go, Wataru is fairly certain this is a hell of a drug.

 

Physical things Eichi can understand—perhaps that’s _all_ he can understand in the moment. That heady, _physical_ press of Wataru against him, nothing but long, hard muscle and that thrumming, radiating heat pinning him against the wall, makes Eichi’s own mind short out, and he hears himself groan, lurching up off his heels to wrap Wataru’s hair around his hand, using it as a leash and keeping him close to kiss him harder.

 

Wataru’s mouth is hot, and Eichi’s eyes flutter, his own mouth parting in a ragged, breathy noise. His other hand drops, curling uselessly into a fist for a moment before he uncurls it to grab a handful of Wataru’s ass. _Yes, yesss, life goals._

 

Eichi’s hand is enough to make Wataru squeak, a startled noise that would have sounded more at home in the mouth of a startled first-year like Tomoya, not a tall adult currently enjoying the fruits of an enjoyable concert. Every time Wataru has thought that giving Lives with fine can never compare to true theatre, he’ll remember this moment. The Bard has never given him a time like _this_ , after all.

 

Eichi’s breathing sinks into Wataru’s ears, making his blood boil with heat, and his hands curl into Eichi’s hair, his back, pulling him closer, until he swallows each gasp— _is this all right? will this be what kills you?_ Emotions surge in his chest, and he groans, feeling as if he’ll be the first one to expire.

 

Oh, that _noise_ Wataru makes is really delightful, and enough to break the spell of any lingering anxiety. Eichi’s fingers knead in, maybe grabbing too-roughly to keep Wataru close, but to his credit, what’s better than being able to grab Wataru’s ass?

 

 _Well,_ his dick not-so-quietly reminds him, _there are a few things._ Eichi’s mouth breaks from Wataru’s with a ragged, panting breath as he arches up off the wall, bold enough now to let his achingly hard cock rub against Wataru’s thigh without shame. “Wataruuu,” he breathes, his tongue wetting his bruised lower lip before his teeth catch against Wataru’s, tugging. “You should let me…” _Eat you, blow you, fuck you, whatever, all of the above._ Keito had accused him of being slutty when they were cuddling less than a week ago and he’d fallen asleep on Wataru’s shoulder; his ears _really_ must be ringing now.

 

“Anything.”

 

Wataru’s voice is breathy, shaky, his legs somehow still keeping him upright—but maybe it’s Eichi keeping him up, maybe it’s Eichi keeping him alive and sane through every heartbeat, and the thrill creeps through Wataru like something primeval, wanting to burst out of his skin. “My Emperor…can have anything from his loyal servant,” he says, eyes shining as he finally pulls back.

 

Wataru sounds as hungry and desperate as him, and that makes Eichi shiver, his toes curling in his shoes. He’s shaky, his hands trembling as he grabs Wataru by the collar and abruptly flips them, pressing Wataru back into the wall in his stead. “Anything?” he echoes breathlessly, his own eyes glittering as he presses close. It takes _effort_ not to just hump Wataru’s leg like a dog, but he has a _bit_ more class than that—maybe. “What if I—what if I wanted you here, right here?” He drops a hand down to Wataru’s belt, yanking at the buckle.

 

Wataru lets out another startled noise, hand dropping to cover Eichi’s, squeezing it gently. “I,” he breathes, the ring on his thumb cool against his skin, gently sliding against Eichi’s thumb, fumbling for words for once in his life, “will never deny you anything.”

 

In the moment, he means it. His eyes glitter, and he clutches at Eichi’s shirt, yanking at buttons. The idea of feeling skin against his own—Eichi’s beloved skin, he’s dreamed about pressing kisses to every single inch of it—is enough to make him weak in the knees.

 

Buttons go flying, and Eichi’s chest heaves as he seizes Wataru’s mouth in a kiss again. His tongue shoves past Wataru’s lips, bolder, more insistent in his kisses this time, and his fingers yank open Wataru’s belt, then linger against his fly. A last, lingering bit of hesitation makes him pause— _you’re not just humoring me, are you? you want this, you want_ me _, right?_ —but Wataru is grabbing him, Wataru is kissing him back…so—

 

Shoving a hand into Wataru’s pants to _finally_ get his hand around his dick makes Eichi’s heart nearly stop. He’s _so_ hot and hard that he groans, his eyes fluttering as he squeezes, stroking upward. “This is mine,” he lowly pants against Wataru’s mouth.

 

Wataru sags sideways, leaning against the wall, hand scrabbling at it to keep himself upright when his body starts to sing. He licks his lips, cock so hard in Eichi’s grasp that it aches, and he rubs it languidly against Eichi’s palm, hips shifting. A more normal person would probably say something, admitting, _I’ve never done anything like this before, please take care of me,_ but if there’s one role he’s never known how to play, it’s a normal young man.

 

He grabs Eichi’s shirt again, hauling him in for a bruisingly hot kiss, and groans, “I want you with every breath I take, and have since I first saw your face.”

 

Eichi’s legs wobble. He breaks away only to gasp for breath, his tongue flicking out to catch the errant, sticky little bit of saliva that escapes from the corner of his mouth, his grasp on Wataru’s cock still possessive, stroking, squeezing when Wataru’s hips arch. “T-then—then you’ve got me, fuck, you’ve got me.”

 

Before he can blurt out half a dozen more embarrassing things— _I’ve had a crush on you since I first saw you, I jerked off to the way your hair moved for months, there’s no one sexier than you, ever_ —Eichi forces himself to pull his hand away, pressing a last, heated kiss to Wataru’s mouth before urging him to turn around. “Put your hands on the wall,” he rasps against Wataru’s neck, stuffing his face down into that mass of hair for a moment, inhaling deeply as his fingers curl into Wataru’s belt loops, easing those skin-tight pants down his hips. His own cock feels like it’s going to punch its way through fabric, and letting himself rub against the curve of Wataru’s ass is torture.

 

Ah, just like the Emperor—they’re doing _that_ right away. A thrill shoots through Wataru—this is so much, it’s so exciting, so terrifying, that it couldn’t be any other way, not with Eichi. He turns as Eichi orders, unable in the moment even to give it one of his customary twirls, letting his legs come together only long enough to help ease down his tight pants, kicking them off one ankle before letting them part again, wider than shoulder-width, feet dragging on the wooden floor. Eichi’s breath is hot on his neck, driving him into a frenzy, making his back arch, providing an incredible tactile counterpoint to the cool air around his buttocks and thighs. “Always knew it would be in a theatre,” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut in anticipation, every part of him tingling, hungry for Eichi’s touch. “Where else would it be? And with whom?”

 

“Next time, maybe it’ll be right on the stage.” Eichi’s lips move against Wataru’s neck, parting to suck, then bite on the side of his neck. _I’m going to be able to see that hickey tomorrow_ , he dazedly thinks, and the shudder that rakes down his spine nearly makes his knees buckle. “This is a side of you an audience has never seen before,” he breathes excitedly, yanking at his own belt and fly, nearly whimpering with how hard he is. “Better that it’s for my eyes only this time, hmm?”

 

Eichi fumbles within the inside pocket of his jacket for a moment—fuck, how to explain that he brought lube _just in case_ like it he does every damned rehearsal and live? Right, maybe Keito’s onto something with that slutty comment. Unimportant, more important that he has _something_ , and he rips the package with shaky fingers, letting it drip over them and down the cleft of Wataru’s ass. “Which means,” he murmurs, hooking his chin over Wataru’s shoulder when a pair of his fingers drag over that tight hole, then sink inside, “I can re~ally take care of you. Open up for me, love.”

 

That one last word, a little endearment that is so much less than what they usually call each other—it isn’t _everlasting prince of my soul_ or _most effervescent worshipper of my life_ , but it is honest, and more than Wataru has ever expected. It sends a tingle through Wataru’s entire being, and he lets his legs spread even farther apart, eyes fluttering shut as he adjusts to that odd stretch. He bites his lip, rather enjoying the sudden sting as he’s prepared. It’s nowhere near as odd or painful as when he’s dislocating his various limbs, but it is unusual, and any new sensation at this age makes him shiver. “It’s slippery,” he murmurs, tongue flicking out, lashing against the wall absently, the taste of paint in his mouth. “You’ll be in me soon, won’t you? I wish you could be all the way in me, all of you, in all of me…”

 

“If you keep saying things like that,” Eichi groans, his head thunking down against Wataru’s shoulder when his fingers press in deep, then curl, spreading apart. He’s maybe being too fast, but his cock aches so much that his eyes cross, and he rubs it against the back of Wataru’s thigh to take the edge off. He’s dripping, and Wataru is _so_ tight around his fingers that he can’t _think_ of anything else. “I’ll—Wataru…god, maybe we’ll just meld together,” he mutters, so riled that he can’t stop himself from pulling his hand away and squeezing out what’s left of the lube onto his cock. “It’s big,” he breathlessly warns, the head of his cock nudging against Wataru’s hole. “But—ahh—it’s you, so it’s fine, right?”

 

“I wouldn’t know the difference,” Wataru says honestly, forehead pressed against the wall, leaving a damp oval of sweat behind. “But…nnh, if I’m going to feel something…I want to feel it as much as possible…so the more of you the better, my Eichi…”

 

It happens like that sometimes—he’ll mean to call him _my liege_ or my _Emperor_ and it will just come out as _Eichi_ , the three sounds imbued with somehow, far more emotions, far more loyalty, far more obsequiousness. It does _feel_ like a lot, pressed against him, and his breath hitches in anticipation, fingers of one hand splayed against the wall, the other dropping down to squeeze Eichi’s hand on his thigh. He fumbles for words. Surely, he should say something lofty, some quote, some stanza that shows his devotion, his adoration—but his mind is misfiring, an all-too-human pleasure rippling through him until he’s panting, excited, feeling hormones surge in his veins until all he can manage is, “In me, please—I want to feel it, feel you—“

 

Wataru begging, pleading, unable to be his usual poetic self— _my Eichi_ —that makes Eichi’s mind click off in turn, and he buries his face into Wataru’s neck, closes his hands around his hips, grips him tightly and gives into the urge to just push himself inside.

 

It’s tight— _Wataru_ is tight, hot and slick around him, could be slicker, doesn’t matter, it’s _Wataru_ , and Eichi muffles a groan into Wataru’s hair as he grinds in, buried half-way before he loses his patience and lets his hips snap forward with a low grunt of effort. Skin slaps lewdly against skin, and Eichi’s fingers hold tightly enough to Wataru’s hips to bruise. “There,” he breathes. “That’s—you’re mine, _my_ Wataru…”

 

There’s no other word for the grind of Eichi’s thick cock into his body but _obscene_. Wataru’s mouth falls open, his fingers scrabbling at the wall for purchase, a low, shaky groan torn from his lungs. He’s never felt so _owned_ before, so possessed, so thoroughly in Eichi’s thrall, and honestly, he’s never felt so much like he has a reason for being alive before. There’s a thick, aching stretch inside of him, something that makes his feet curl, his skin flush, his belly tighten, the sting of pain and cramping, sudden fullness adding an edge to every breath he takes. Far more, far more thrilling than the press of Eichi’s cock into him is the knowledge that he’s being taken by Eichi, that his Emperor, the ruler of his heart, the man he daydreams about and names birds after and mentally kisses goodnight before he closes his eyes every night, is _inside him_. “Always been yours,” he slurs, cheek pressing against the wall in search of something like stability, something that will anchor him to the world.

 

The entire world narrows to Wataru—the way he smells, the way he moves, the noises he makes. The world _usually_ narrows to nothing but Wataru when he’s around, but this is that intensity dialed up to eleven, and Eichi’s hands tremble against Wataru’s hips, his breath catching hard in his chest as he slowly pulls back, his eyes training down to watch his cock disappear back into Wataru’s body.

 

“O-of course you’d love this,” he whispers, one hand pawing around, sliding down Wataru’s tense abdomen to his cock. It’s still achingly hard, and his mouth falls open as his fingers squeeze around it, stroking up as he thrusts in hard enough to press Wataru against the wall. “You’re _perfect_ ,” Eichi pants against his neck, barely pulling out for his next grind in, _needing_ to stay inside, that tight clench of Wataru’s body around him making him see stars. His toes curl and he bites down into Wataru’s shoulder, groaning.

 

Wataru’s hand slides down, squeezing around Eichi’s wrist, dragging it away from his cock. “Too much,” he pants, feeling his body pulse with every rock of Eichi’s hips forward, his breathing synced up with something so much better than heartbeats. “Want to focus on—how you feel—“

 

His eyes close, and he smells Eichi, feels him, tastes him somehow over the stale rasp of his face against old paint. His own cock is so hard it’s dripping, little drops adding to the wall’s discoloration with every thrust, the tip nudging against the wall each time he’s pressed forward, making him gasp. “I’m—it’s you, I—more of you, you, _you_ —“

 

Wordlessly, Eichi obeys and pulls his hand away, and instead, grabs at Wataru’s heavy, thick braided ponytail, wrapping it around his hand, yanking hard on it when he shoves in hard. That friction around his cock makes him groan as he ruts forward, and that sound turns to a growl as pulling on Wataru’s hair makes him feel even _tighter_ around him, somehow. Thrusting into that makes his mouth fall open, his eyes fluttering every time he feels himself throb, dripping inside, making everything even slicker. “That’s—all of me, you have all of me,” Eichi rasps. “I’m never—gonna be able to stop now, you know—every time I see you, I want—“

 

“Never pull out,” Wataru groans, clutching at the wall so hard he feels as if he’ll leave fingerprints in the plaster. His head tips back with the yank on his hair, Eichi’s hand so strong that Wataru tips back into that strength, hips canting back against Eichi’s hips until ass slaps thighs. He’d thought he craved the pain of the initial stretch, but it’s faded, retreated into blinding pleasure untainted by that stringing ache, and the sizzling heat almost drives him insane. The rhythm steals his breath, and he slams back again and again, a mindless creature driven only by hedonism, chanting, “More, more, more, please, Eichi, my love, please—“

 

Only Wataru would have all of him and still want _more_ , and that makes Eichi hungrier still, somehow. All he can do is oblige, using Wataru’s hair as a leash to hold him back onto his cock as he grinds forward, a hand shoved between those broad shoulders to press him to the wall, holding him there as he fucks in hard. “You can have everything,” he groans, sweat dripping off of his own forehead to splatter against the back of Wataru’s neck, and he ducks his head to thoughtlessly lick it up, tasting Wataru’s sweat mixed with his own. “Wataru— _Wataru_ —“

 

Jerking off to the _idea_ of fucking Wataru backstage, _on_ stage—that doesn’t come anywhere close to comparing to this. When he comes, his legs threaten to buckle, and Eichi bites into Wataru’s shoulder to muffle the sound that escapes. He buries himself with another, hard, rough thrust, fucking in even after he starts to spill, grinding in deep and feeling the own, slick pulse of his cock make it even _easier_ to be inside.

 

Wataru lets out a grateful, shuddering breath. He rocks back and stays there, buried as deeply as he can be, squeezing down and relishing the slick pulse of Eichi inside him. It’s too full, it’s as hot as he can ever remember being, it’s too much, and he savors every second of it. “Eichi,” he breathes, and between the taste of that name and the wet heat inside him, he spills against the wall in grateful, shuddering pulses. _I always knew it would be in a theatre,_ he thinks dazedly. _Dreamed it was with him._

 

For a long, dazed moment, Eichi is very certain he’ll pass out. He slumps forward, his head thunking against Wataru’s shoulder as his arms wrap around Wataru’s waist, squeezing and clinging there tightly. “Wataruuu,” he whines, rubbing his flushed face slowly against Wataru’s shoulder. “You’re so…so perfect, ah…”

 

“My love.” Wataru turns his head, stealing another kiss, slow and heated as he nibbles on Eichi’s lip. Sweat sticks his hair to his neck, and a smile curls his lips. “Why tonight?”

 

Eichi blinks languidly, a smile of his own pulling at his lips. “Because you were so sexy that I couldn’t help myself,” he forwardly answers, batting his eyelashes. “Also—why not?”

 

“My favorite reason for anything.” Wataru presses another kiss to Eichi’s cheek, then his lips once more. “What about my appearance today is different? I’ll do it again and again.”

 

“Noooo, I have to be able to function,” Eichi bemoans, burying his face down into the back of Wataru’s shoulder again. “It’s your hair, it’s always your hair!”

 

“Shall I cut it off, then? Only the best for my Emperor~!”

 

“Do that, and I’ll tie you up in my bed and never let you leave until it’s grown back.”

 

“Lend me a knife.”

 

 

 


End file.
